


Sleep on the Right Side of the White Noise

by sequence_fairy



Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M, Nightmares, PTSD, Panic Attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 14:50:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6380614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sequence_fairy/pseuds/sequence_fairy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ichigo's always had nightmares. He's seen some shit in his life, even before the whole 'turned into a <i>shinigami</i> ' thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleep on the Right Side of the White Noise

**Author's Note:**

> Ichigo’s had a hard life okay. I just want to make him a bowl of soup and give him a blanket - instead I’m giving him Rukia. Title lifted from a Silversun Pickups song.

Sleeping has never been easy.The nightmares go without saying . Ichigo’s pretty much always had them. They get worse the more shit he sees, but it’s not like the shit is ever gonna end anytime soon, so you know, repress and deny.

_ Don’t ever let anyone think you’re struggling, just keep going, hold on to that core of steel at your centre and never let it go. Try not to wake up your sisters when you dream that Aizen’s gutting you, or you have to watch him take Rukia apart at the seams and she’s bleeding out in your arms and you can do  _ nothing _. Swallow the bile that rises in your throat, even though it burns like the tears you refuse to allow to fall. _

After Las Noches, after  _ dying _ \- the nightmares take on another level of horror. It’s never been like this before, never been so close that every time Ichigo closes his eyes, he’s forced to remember. He’s always been good at putting aside what had to be done in battle, always been able to close it off and shove it away, but something changed this time, and the memories bleed through even in daylight.

He doesn’t really remember anything from what happened after the  _ cero  _ to the chest, except for Orihime screaming and a roar that sounded like it came from somewhere both deep inside him and far away.

But when he closes his eyes? It’s  _ cero _ blasts, the crunch of bone beneath his hands and the give of flesh beneath his blade. It’s running from Hollows and then running to them, it’s leading his friends into battle and then slaughtering them while his sword dances in his hands. It’s whispers in the back of his head; their sibilant voices goading and prodding and teasing and pushing and accusing and he can’t stop hearing them even when he wakes up.

_ Some nights, it’s Uryuu who takes your blade in the chest, like it was in the battle over Las Noches, but more often, it’s a succession of their faces - Chad, Orihime, Renji, Nel, Rukia - their eyes wide, searching yours for a sign of recognition before you cut into their skin. Your ears echo with your own laughter as their blood spills over your hands. _

He always wakes up screaming.

He can’t remember the last time he slept through the night, can’t remember when he wasn’t exhausted to the bone from trying and failing to keep a lid on his emotions. He knows they’ve all noticed. No one says anything, but no one has to.

He sees the way they watch him, sees the way their eyes follow him as they hunt Hollows together and as they fight. He hears them whisper when he pulls the mask over his face, sees the way they all step back as one when he launches himself into the air.

He doesn’t let it get to him. Ichigo’s good at repress and deny. He’s had a lifetime of practice. He ignores the stares and the whispers, and continues doing what he’s always done - kill the next thing that gets between him and his friends.

Rukia finds him in his room after a particularly vicious fight, when Ichigo’s doing math homework in an effort to stay awake because going to sleep means watching from behind his own eyes as he rips into her flesh with claws and teeth. So focused is Ichigo on the problem set, and on trying to stave off his own exhaustion, that he doesn’t hear her come in and startles hard when she touches the back of his neck. Without any conscious thought, and with alarm bells screaming in his brain, his hands are wrapped around her neck and he’s shoving her back and up against the wall.

Her nails claw at his fingers, and she gasps his name, struggling to breathe under the iron grip of his fist. Ichigo comes back to himself when a well-aimed kick gets him in under the ribs and he lets go of Rukia, stepping back from her, staring at his own hands in horror. Rukia lands in a heap on the floor, gasping for air and massaging her throat.

“I didn’t - I’m sorry - I -” Ichigo’s voice cracks, shame filling his face with heat and revulsion churning in his gut.

“Ichigo,” Rukia croaks, and Ichigo looks up from his hands. “It’s okay,” Rukia says, voice hoarse. “It’s okay. It’s my fault. I should have let you know I was there.” She gets to her feet, steps towards him purposefully and Ichigo lets her get close, far too close. She peers up at him. “How long?”

It takes more than a minute for his brain to catch up with the question, and when it does, Ichigo speaks without thinking. “Always.”

“Oh Ichigo,” Rukia murmurs, and her eyes soften. The softness undoes something in Ichigo and his iron clad control slips enough to let him reach out for her hand. She lets him have it, squeezes his fingers between her own.

“It’s been worse lately,” he says finally, and Rukia nods. “Since Las Noches.” ‘Course, if he’s honest, it’s been bad since long before then, but Ichigo’s as good at lying to himself as he as at dissembling to other people. Rukia brings their joined hands up between them, and Ichigo looks at their fingers intertwined.

He’s holding her hand sometimes in the dreams too, holding her hand and then pulling her close and then she’s choking and gasping and his sword is red with her blood and Ichigo can’t breathe.

He drops her hand like he’s been burned and backs away from Rukia. She watches him, lets her hand fall to her side, and Ichigo still can’t breathe. “I can’t,” he says, sitting down heavily on his bed. It feels like there’s an anvil on his chest, even while his heart is banging against his ribs like it wants to escape and he still can’t breathe. His skin feels both too tight and too thin. Black spots dance across his vision.

“Hey,” Rukia says, suddenly in his face. Ichigo rears back, and Rukia grips his upper arms. He can feel her nails digging into his skin. “Ichigo,” Rukia says. Her eyes are wide and dark and he could lose himself in them if he let himself. “Ichigo,” she says again. “I need you to breathe okay? Can you do it with me?”

Ichigo can’t bring himself to do anything. Rukia takes his silence for an affirmative. “Okay, we’re gonna breathe together.” She takes his hand and places it on her chest. “Just follow me okay?”

Ichigo can feel her heart beating, her fluttering pulse beneath her skin. He can remember how it felt when it stopped. “Alright,” Rukia says, pressing her hand against his chest, “inhale.” Rukia inhales deeply, and Ichigo feels her chest expand. She exhales and he feels the rush of her breath past his ear.

“Again,” she says, and this time Ichigo is able to drag in a ragged breath along with her. He feels the hand against his chest flex as he breathes out. “Again,” Rukia repeats, and Ichigo breathes with her. His mind is still whirling, he can’t quite separate out the now from the dream and the flashback that still has it’s hooks in him. Everything has taken on a surreal edge and he feels like he’s one step away from losing it entirely.

“It’s okay,” she says, and Ichigo nods, still breathing when she tells him to, because he can’t manage to find enough brain power to do it for himself. He doesn’t protest when Rukia sits down on the bed next to him.

They breathe together until his heart slows. Rukia keeps her hand on his chest the entire time, and Ichigo grounds himself to the heat of her palm through the fabric of his shirt. Ichigo starts to feel like the world is coming back into focus when Rukia tries to take her hand back. He does not spend any time thinking about the blind panic that ensues and instead just grabs her hand and then her other one for good measure.

“Don’t,” he says, surprised at how raspy his voice is. He clears his throat. “Just - will you stay?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you,” Ichigo replies and looks down at their joined hands. This time the present doesn’t fade into a flashback and Ichigo feels a weight drop off his shoulders.

“Do you -” Rukia pauses, as if gauging his reaction, “do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” Ichigo says shortly. Rukia doesn’t push. She leans into him instead.

“When you’re ready,” Rukia says, and Ichigo nods. He’s not sure he’ll ever be ready, but if she’s willing to wait then he’ll tell her when he figures out how to explain. 

He falls asleep that night, arms around her, because she wouldn’t let him go. It’s the first time in months that he doesn’t fight to stay awake, that he doesn’t struggle to keep his eyes open until they close on their own.

The nightmares still come, and he still wakes up screaming, but she’s there with her soft hands and kind eyes and he falls back asleep to the sound of her voice instead of the sound of their screams.


End file.
